Say It
by leesung
Summary: Normally a rather boring, reserved boy, what happens when Harry starts saying things he never meant for others to hear? R&R: rating is subject to change. slash; HPDM
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Whew! Thanks for viewing! Hopefully you'll review when you finish, I'd love some feedback on whether I should continue or not. Happy readings!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. Unfortunately.

**Say It : Chapter One**

"Verbal vomit!"

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"What?"

"Verbal vomit! What, you've never heard of it before?" Ron asked, an incredulous look on his face. Harry and Hermione exchanged another glance.

"Of course we've heard of it," Harry said, "but I'm not quite sure how that relates to anything."

Ron snorted, and leaned closer towards the two as if he were about to whisper a secret.

"O.K.," he admitted. "It isn't _actually_ called Verbal Vomit." He glared at Hermione's "ah-ha!" before continuing. "I just can't remember what it's called. Mum used to tell me and Ginny all sorts of fairy tales back in the day. I remember one of them was 'bout a bloke who had millions of secrets! Hardly anything he spoke 'bout was what he was really thinking. Then suddenly, one day, when he was courting a girl he was to marry, instead of telling her that her dress was flatterin', he told her she was an ugly fat cow!"

"So? Just sounds like an insensitive prick to me."

"'Mione! Come on! I'm not even done with the story yet," Ron complained above of Harry's snickering.

"Oh, alright," Hermione conceded. "But this is just a waste of time."

"Anyways. The girl was absolutely horrified, since he had said it in front of her family and all, that she refused to see him for a long time. Depressed, he went to the local pub for a pint. There, his mouth just completely ran off! First off, he wasn't looking when he walked in the door, so he ran right into this huge-"

"All right, Ron. That's enough. Why don't you just tell us the important parts and save the fun ones for later?" Hermione said, exasperated.

"But 'Mione! The fun parts are the best parts!" Ron whined.

Harry laughed. "As much as I'd like to hear the fun parts, Hermione is right, Ron."

"Oh, alright," Ron grumbled. "Well, the whole myth of the story says that when someone consistently lies or never says what's actually on their mind, they get this huge build-up of suppressed emotions inside of them. And since your emotional core is tied with your magical core, it'll disrupt your magic. Eventually your magic will go haywire, and to fix itself, it'll start forcing you to speak only the truth. Something like that." He scratched at a stain in the thick common room rug. The trio fell into a silence while they all digested the new information.

"I think I've read something similar to that," Hermione suddenly said. Both Harry and Ron looked up from their carpet-pickings.

"Honestly?" Harry asked, incredulous, "I didn't think there was anything that could have been remotely real in that idiotic story." He blanched, and sighed. "No offense, Ron."

"None taken, mate. I didn't think so either."

"Well, it's slightly plausible. I can't believe I didn't remember this before. It's called 'Twisted Fingers' in rural areas by the local people. Its actual Latin name is _fatum probitas_, meaning 'strange honesty'. We don't actually have an emotional core; it's our souls and minds that 'filter' the emotions. Our magical cores are obviously tied to them, so any emotional or psychological damage will most likely also affect our ability to perform magic. Depending on the extent of the damage, of course, and its location. It also depends on the spell; if you were hit by a simple spell, then-"

"Come on, Hermione! Get to it, get to it!"

"Calm down, Harry!" Hermione huffed. "As I was saying, since our cores are so tightly connected, they are also able to interact with each other to certain extents. Ron was right about the 'emotional build-up'; eventually all the negative energy from all the suppressed emotions will begin to effect your magic. In turn, it will attempt to rectify the situation by forcing you to speak your mind, or the truth. In past cases, not everything said was actually truth, but more like…it just popped out. Hence," Hermione said, grudgingly, "the 'Verbal Vomit'."

"I was right! I was actually right!" Ron crowed, jumping to his feet to dance around the two still seated.

Harry grinned at his antics, and Hermione reluctantly broke a smile.

"Then," Harry asked, "how do I fix this? I can't go around spewing information on the Order whenever someone simply just asks for it."

Ron immediately sobered, and Hermione got a thoughtful look on her face.

"I don't think it works that way. You do, of course, have a certain extent of control over what you say, but you'll just have to be careful that you don't let all of the emotions build up." She gave Harry a soft look. "I know you're not very comfortable with sharing your thoughts, Harry, but Ron and I are always here to listen whenever you need us. Besides, it'll help with the Vomit."

Ron nodded enthusiastically. Harry grinned at the name, but he couldn't seem to shake the sense of impending doom.

* * * * * * * *

Harry wasn't quite sure what day it started on. He wanted to say Wednesday, but Hermione assured him that it was Thursday. And then Ron had said Monday, so now Harry was completely thrown off. So Wednesday seemed right for now.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and the three of them had just escaped the clutches of Hagrid's new pets in Care of Magical Creatures, and were now on their way to a double period of Herbology with their rivals and enemies, the Slytherins. Or, to be more exact, Draco Malfoy. It was well into September, but the heat outside was stifling. Both Harry and Ron had abandoned their sweaters in the common room at noon, and had loosened their ties and unbuttoned the first few buttons on their shirts. Hermione, clinging to her more conservative side despite the heat, had only tied up her hair and rolled up her sleeves.

Herbology in a humid, damp greenhouse was certainly not the lake both houses were dying to take a dip in. The Gryffindors had already arranged an early evening 'party' at the lake, approved by the teachers and Dumbledore, and were excited for their last class of the day to end. Not to be outdone, the Slytherins were throwing their own impromptu party alongside them.

Hermione reached the greenhouse just before the distant toll of the castle bell sounded, while Harry and Ron lagged a short distance behind her, having lost most of their motivation to the heat.

"I'm roasting," Ron moaned as he dragged an arm across his forehead. It came off slick with sweat. Harry would normally have been disgusted, but he couldn't complain now; not with the way he himself was sweating. He couldn't even muster up an answer, only grunting in response. His glasses slipped a little further down his sweat-slicked nose, and he absently pushed them back up.

'If this heat doesn't end soon, I'm going to strangle someone,' Harry thought darkly. He never enjoyed the summers particularly, usually preferring the coldness of winter.

They were both the last to straggle into the overheated 'classroom', shortly after Professor Sprout had begun the day's lecture. Ron, who seemed to function slightly better than Harry in the heat, had spotted an open seat near Seamus and had quickly settled down. Harry stood by the door, his gaze sweeping across the mass of students. His heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that there were no more open seats among the Gryffindors. He'd have to sit with the slimy snakes today.

"I'll bet everything in my Gringotts vault that the only seat left will be next to Malfoy," Harry thought as he turned slowly to survey the Slytherin side of the room. He blinked in surprise when he realized that Goyle was occupying two seats on Malfoy's left, and the ever-simpering Parkinson was on his right. Maybe today was actually starting to look up.

That's what Harry thought until he realized there were no seats left in the greenhouse. None. Zero. Zip. Nada.

"What the hell?" he muttered, as Ron turned around and shot him an apologetic look.

'Wow,' he thought, looking around awkwardly. 'This might actually be worse than sitting next to Malfoy. I need to find-'

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Sprout's voice boomed from the front of the room. She was heading down the aisle, and all of the students turned to stare at Harry, who stood alone in the doorway. He groaned inwardly.

"5 points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Take a seat, I've already started explaining today's assignment."

Harry shifted his bag awkwardly. "Uh, professor? There aren't anymore seats…"

Draco Malfoy cut in before Professor Sprout could answer. "Ha! Potter hasn't got a seat! Of course no one wants to sit next to a disfigured freak!"

"Mr. Malfoy! Kindly watch your language! That is highly-"

"I've got a seat, Malfoy, a _very_ _nice_ one, in fact. You wouldn't know, but I bet you would just love to-" Harry clamped both hands over his mouth, his bag dropping to the ground. The greenhouse was silent; all of the students had disbelieving looks on their faces. Was he about to say what they thought he was?

Harry lowered his hands from his red face and gave a small cough. Professor Sprout broke out of her stupor and began sputtering, "Oh! Oh dear. Um, Mr. Potter, um, why don't you sit at my desk for today? I'll, uh, I'll just, just…" her flustered mind refused to supply her with anymore words, so with that, she simply turned around and returned to the front of the classroom.

* * * * * * * * *

Harry took off right after when he heard the first bell toll, signaling the end of class, but Ron and Hermione managed to catch up with him.

"What was that all about, Harry?" Ron asked, a broad grin on his face.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, picking up his pace. He didn't want to be questioned about what he had said back in the greenhouse, because he wasn't quite sure why he said any of it at all. He tugged at his tie, suddenly feeling suffocated.

"It was very inappropriate, Harry!" Of course, here comes the scolding. "I'm very surprised that Professor Sprout didn't take off any points for it. You're never like…_that_. What's wrong?" Hermione had a concerned look on her face, and Harry felt too guilty to tell her to leave him alone.

"I don't know, Hermione. It just came out. And what do you mean by '_that_'?"

"Well, mate, no one ever took you to be an open pervert. Maybe a closet pervert, at the very most. You always seemed kinda 'prim and proper'. You know, kinda like 'Mione."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed. He didn't want to be 'prim and proper' like Hermione!

"Hey!" Hermione said, offended. Both boys muttered quick apologies, not wanting to be subjected another one of her infamous scoldings. Hermione sighed, "Well, let's go get changed for the party. I could really do with a cool down before dinner."

"Yes!" Ron pumped a fist into the air, apparently having forgotten about the party until now. "Last one back is a rotten flubberworm!"

He took off at a run, leaving Harry and Hermione behind to watch amusedly as he sped past other students, knocking a first year down in his haste to reach the castle. When he was out of sight, Hermione turned towards Harry.

"So, what was that all actually about?"

Harry sighed, "I said I didn't know, Hermione."

"Don't give me that, Harry! What's wrong?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong. Normally I can stop myself from saying all these things, but it just popped out," he said, scratching his head. Malfoy was probably going to tease him for it later. He sighed again.

"Stop sighing, Harry. It happens once in a while, don't worry about it. At least you didn't imply anything too promiscuous involving yourself and Malfoy."

"I wanted to," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What?"

Harry looked up, confused. "What?"

"You said something."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"O.K., Hermione. Whatever you say."

"Oh, come on! Cheer up! Now, who's ready for a party?" she cheered.

"You," Harry grumbled.

Hermione huffed. "Fine! Who's ready to be a rotten flubberworm?"

Harry stared at her. "A what? Who?"

"You!" Hermione abruptly shoved Harry. He lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, his legs tangled. An upside-down Hermione laughed and raced up the grassy hill towards the castle, leaving Harry behind in the grass. He rolled off of his back and chased after her with a bark of laughter; maybe a little unwinding was just what he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Hiya again. Kinda short this time, but it was a fast update, haha. More to come.

Please R&R! I'd love some feedback (:

**Say It : Chapter Two**

It took Harry five minutes flat to change into his swimming trunks, and he was already in the common room waiting impatiently for both Ron and Hermione, despite having arrived much later than them.

"Could you guys be any slower?" he yelled up the stairs. There was a moment of silence before he heard a muffled "Coming!".

Ron emerged in a simple blue tee and yellow swimming trunks that had little silver snitches. Harry snorted, and Ron turned a light shade of pink.

"It was the only ones they had," Ron mumbled.

"Right."

Ron glared at Harry, sticking his tongue out at him just as Hermione emerged from the girls' dorm. She was wearing a black swimsuit and had pulled on a sheer shirt.

Ron stared at her, and snorted. "Come on, 'Mione! What's with the body-suit? We're sixth years! Show some skin! Where's that bikini?"

Hermione huffed. "For your information, Ronald, this is a one-piece, not a body suit. And I think it's a very flattering one at that, thank you. If you want a bikini so bad, why don't you wear it?"

Harry laughed; he knew quite well why Ron wanted to see Hermione in something a little more revealing than her simple one-piece. But as long as she was comfortable, he wouldn't interfere. Harry had simply thrown aside his sweaty uniform and pulled on a thin worn wife-beater and black swim trunks.

"So, Ron, if you're done fantasizing, can we get going? Dean said that he and Seamus were going to sneak in a grill, and I'm starving!"

"What's a grill?"

"Something you will undoubtedly come to love, Ron."

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Gryffindor party was in full swing on the sandy lake side when the trio arrived, and from the looks of it, they assumed the Slytherin party was too. Only, it seemed like only half of the beach was loud and wild, with students running everywhere laughing and screaming, pouring cold drinks on each other and tossing Frisbees that one of the muggle-borns must have conjured. The Slytherin half seemed, well, dead. There were just as many Slytherins on the beach as there were Gryffindors, but none were running around screaming, or even moving. Apparently, their idea of a lake side party was to lay motionless on plush recliners, tanning in the sun. There skin never seemed to get much darker than a pale death, in Harry's opinion.

'It must be all the time they spend skulking around in the dungeons,' Harry thought, 'doing Merlin knows what.' That brought a rather unpleasant image of Crabbe and Goyle with a can of spray cheese, and he shook his head quickly to rid himself of the disgusting image.

He followed a bickering Ron and Hermione to the heart of the Gryffindor party; the smell of barbeque set a dull ache of hungry in his empty stomach. Harry looked around to hopefully find Dean and his magic grill, but all he could find of interest was Lavender's bright pink boom-box that rested on a rock, charmed to blast music that seemed to echo across the lake and through the nearby forest. Harry stumbled back a few steps when a group of first years ran by, whooping at the prized meals they carried. Harry's stomach grumbled in annoyance at the sight, and he set off, determined to find Dean.

Harry had a hard time finding him; mainly for the fact that Dean was flipping patties in front of a submerged, beat-up grill. He waded into the lake, calling out a greeting as he reached Dean.

"Hey, Dean. What's the grill doing all the way out here?"

"Hiya, Harry!" Dean gave him a bright smile. "Well, I set up the grill on the beach at first, but all the first years kept knocking it over with their runnin' around. After wasting 'bout half a box of patties, I just moved the grill into the water since no one seems to be swimmin' yet. I've put a charm on it, by the way, so no worries there."

Harry laughed; trust Dean to come up with a rather ingenious idea. "Two burgers to go, Chef," he said with a wide grin.

"Comin' right up!" Dean summoned a few patties from a box on the beach and set them on the sizzling grill. "They'll be a minute, so why don't you head up and grab a cold Butterbeer? Grab me one too while you're up there."

Harry made his way up to the shore, but a group of running students, this time third years, knocked him into the water.

"Oi!" he yelled, but they kept running. With a sigh, he looked down. His wife-beater was now soaked through; he had intended to use it as a makeshift towel, too lazy to bring an actual one. Harry arrived on the sand dripping wet, and managed to narrowly avoid another horde of students. It seemed that a huge game of tag had commenced, complete with sandy meat patties that Harry suspected were the ones that had been knocked off the grill. It seemed to be mostly lower classmen who were tagging each other with raw meat patties, so Harry was surprised to see Ron race by chasing a squealing Hermione with a dripping red beef patty. He chuckled; their antics to get each others attention were certainly amusing.

'If only they'd stop horsing around and just admit their feelings to each other,' Harry mused, "then there'd be abso-'

His thoughts and vision were interrupted by a cold and wet chunk of meat decided to visit his face. Harry stood there, dumbstruck, as the soggy meat patty slowly slid down his face and landed with a 'plop' at his bare feet.

Neville stood in front of him with a look of horror on his face.

"Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry, Harry! I didn't mean to hit you! I-I was just trying to get back at Seamus, a-and I was running after him but all of the sudden you walked in front of…" he stared wide-eyed as Harry bent down and slowly picked up the meat.

"Neville?"

"Y-yes?"

"Run." Harry's innocent smile turned into a mischievous grin, and Neville let out a yelp before taking off in the direction he came from. He let out a loud 'whoop' as he ran, feeling the red juices drip down his arm as he carefully aimed after Neville's running form.

"Fore!" he yelled, laughing, as he threw the meat with as much strength as he could muster. The patty soared through the air, getting closer, and closer, and closer to Neville. Until he decided to swerve to the right, that is.

Harry watched in horror as the patty landed with an audible 'plop' on the sleeping face of one Draco Malfoy.

Figures.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Whew! I thought I'd be getting more done since summer has started but damn, this summer has been rough and busy so far.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It was very much appreciated. ^^

I love to hear from readers, so please leave a review! :D

I would have waited to update until I had a bit more written, but I haven't updated in ages. This chapter has some "mature" language. Haha.

* * * * * * * *

The entire beach fell silent in a heartbeat, and everyone turned to stare at both Harry and Malfoy.

'O.K., Malfoy still hasn't moved an inch, so maybe I can just quietly slip away…'

"Where. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Going, Potter?"

Harry had only just taken a few small steps when Malfoy's icy voice stopped him in his tracks. He mentally cringed.

'Oh, shit.'

"Uhm, well, I was just going to head up to the castle, and, uh, you know…," he said as he turned back around. Harry stopped mid-sentence when he saw Malfoy's face.

Malfoy was now sitting upright on his recliner, and had pulled the wet patty from his face and thrown it aside into the water. His normally pale blond bangs now had a reddish-pink tinge and were plastered to his forehead. The patty had left Draco with red cheeks and a red nose. Harry let out a snicker before he could stop himself; Malfoy looked like a rouged-up doll.

"Do you think this is funny, Potter?" Draco grit out. Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Kinda?"

Malfoy slowly rose from his recliner, and all the Slytherins rose with him.

'Oh, _shit._'

Draco began to slowly stalk towards Harry, and the Slytherins mimicked his moves. The Gryffindors bristled at this, and began to form tightly behind Harry. The two houses faced each other in silence for a few long moments. Harry could hear faint whimpering in the background; most likely Neville, he assumed. Before he could turn to investigate, Draco spoke.

"I'm waiting, Potter."

Harry scowled. "Waiting for what?"

"Your apology," Draco smirked, crossing his arms. "On your knees."

Harry mockingly gasped. "That was last night, Malfoy. I'm too tired for another round, especially with an audience." Harry clamped his mouth shut. '_What the fuck am I saying? Great job, Harry! Just great.'_

The Gryffindors gasped while Malfoy's glare darkened. He took a menacing step towards Harry, bringing him nearly nose-to-nose with the slightly shorter boy.

"I will curse you into next month, Potter, if I don't get an apology _now_." Draco's right hand shot up to grip the thin material of Harry's wife beater, and pulled the boy closer; Harry could smell the faint stink that the patty had left on Draco's face. He pulled back as far as Draco's grip would allow him.

"Geez, Malfoy, ever heard of washing? You're starting to smell as bad as Seamus' bed after a round or two 0f-"

Harry was cut off by a faint voice of protest behind him, probably Seamus, and the wand that was now poking him painfully under his chin. Harry grunted when Draco pressed the wand harder in his neck, tipping Harry's head backwards.

"I do not want to know," Draco growled, "what disgusting things Finnigan does while alone in his bed." The Slytherins chuckled at this as Seamus' red face became impossibly redder.

"Right, because I'm sure it's all you ever d-," Harry's laughter turned to silent choking when Draco growled and pulled Harry right off of his feet.

"I think _now_ would be the ideal time for an apology," Draco snarled.

Harry responded with a swift kick to the crotch. Draco dropped Harry, half-bent over, his face contorted in pain. Harry remained on the sand where he had fallen, laughing at Malfoy's pain.

"You…little…._fucker_…,"Malfoy snarled, and jumped at Harry. Too busy laughing, Harry hadn't seen Malfoy coming and let out a surprised yelp when the heavier boy plowed into him. They tumbled together over and over on the sand, the Gryffindors parting to allow the rolling fight pass.

Draco managed to roll Harry onto his back and straddled his waist.

"You're going to pay for that, Potter," he hissed, landing a punch to Harry's cheek. Harry cried out in pain when the ring on Malfoy's finger cut deep into his skin, ripping a deep, angry red line across the bridge of his nose. Harry threw his weight forward and knocked Draco backwards, mimicking his previous position. His hands found their way to Draco's neck and began strangling him.

Gasping for breath, Draco's frantic hands clawed across Harry's shoulders until they found his neck. He tangled his hands in the metal chain that hung around Harry's neck and pulled with all his strength. Harry tightened his hands around Draco's neck in response, but his face was slowly turning red as Draco's grip on his necklace began to choke him.

"Let…go….of….me," Draco choked out, glaring up at Harry. They snarled at each other, both refusing to back down. A slow trickle of blood slid down Harry's nose, pooling at the tip before dripping down onto Draco's lip. Draco reflexively liked his lips, but his features twisted at the metallic taste. Disgusted, he spat the blood back at Harry, hitting him right in the eye.

Harry recoiled, releasing Malfoy to rub furiously at his left eye. Who knew what the hell was in that ferret's spit!

Everything was a blur; he had lost his glasses when he and Malfoy were tumbling across the sand. Only now did he realize that an all-put brawl had erupted across the beach. Both houses had followed his and Malfoy's example, and had readily jumped each other at the first chance. Fists were flying, hair was being pulled, and flesh was being bitten. Surprisingly, not a single student had pulled out their wand, opting to fight physically. Even the Slytherins were reveling in the adrenaline the "primitive" fighting was giving them.

The music continued to blast, but the roar from the students was beginning to drown it out. Harry tried to make out some faces, but everything was to blurry, and everyone was moving so fast. A blur flashed in the corner of his eye, and he let out a grunt as a punch caught him on the chin. Malfoy kicked him in the ribs, making the breath whoosh out of Harry. He gasped for breath, but only managed to inhale handfuls of the beach sand. The sand seemed to embed itself into Harry's throat and he began hacking, only to be kicked again. The kick sent him onto his back, and he continued to gasp for air. Harry stared up unblinking at the blue sky. He tried to cough the sand up and out of his throat, but he couldn't _breathe._

Draco froze mid-kick, staring down at the boy beneath him who was starting to look a little blue. Shit.

"Hey, Potter, get the bloody hell up! Pathetic," Draco spat, but a small bit of uncertainty crept into his voice.

Harry started to claw at his throat; the pain was unbearable. He tried to breathe and swallow at the same time, but had only managed to make the burning in his throat worse. Harry rolled onto his stomach and raised himself to all fours, trying to stick his fingers down his throat.

"Potter! Hey, Potter!"

There were black spots dancing in the corners of his vision, and his head swam. A dull roar began to rush past him. Harry began to panic, but the lack of oxygen slowed him down.

Draco stared at his choking arch-rival. '_Shit! If Potter dies here, I'll get sent to Azkaban! That is, if the entire fucking Wizarding World doesn't kill me first. Fuck, fuck!'_

Draco dropped to his knees beside Harry, praying to Merlin that everyone else was too absorbed in their own fight to witness him, a Malfoy, help Harry Potter. He pulled Harry into his lap and began thumping his fists against Harry's chest. It didn't seem to help; in fact, it seemed to make things worse. Harry glared weakly at Draco in between his small, rough gasps.

'_Oh shit, this is going to be nasty.'_

Draco leaned Harry forward, wrapping one arm around his waist and thrust two fingers into Harry's mouth. Harry could feel Malfoy's fingers push roughly against the back of his throat, and reflexively gagged. Another thrust, and his breakfast came back up. He reached up and pulled Malfoy's hand away before leaning forward and throwing up rather loudly.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back against Malfoy as he gratefully gulped down the fresh air. Draco stared at his slime covered hand in disgust. He shoved Harry from his lap, plunging his hand into the sand in an attempt to get rid off the ick.

"Merlin, Potter, that's disgusting! You stupid fuck, how the hell do you choke on _sand?_ In the middle of a fight! I should have just let you die," Draco wiped his hand on Harry's swim trunks.

Harry weakly glared at Malfoy, before flopping back onto the sand.

"Love you too, Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth to return a witty retort when-

"_What is going on here?"_

* * * * * * * *

**Additional Notes: **To be continued!

This story isn't meant to stay 'humorous' throughout. Sure, it'll still have it's funny (hopefully) moments, but I do hope to also turn it into a serious fic. But I'm still glad you guys had a couple of chuckles!

R&R, much thanks!


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